Stirring Attraction(55)

He pushed open the door and fought like hell to control his ragged breathing. All those years of training, all that time spent away from the woman he loved trying to make himself better, hoping to come home her hero—­this was his chance. Now he needed to execute as if he were a mission.

He raised the gun, his right index finger wrapped around the trigger. Silently, he moved into the entryway and scanned the space. She wasn’t here. But—­

“I swear I’m on hold.”

He heard Lily voice, firm and fearful. But fucking alive. And he headed for the kitchen. He stopped beside the wine cabinet in her living room. The archway leading to the kitchen stood a few inches in front of him. He could see Louis from his vantage point, but Lily was out of sight.

Where was her phone? He tried to picture the room. The coffeepot in the far corner by the sink . . . The window above the sink looking out the side of the house . . . The phone by the fridge, which stood on the opposite wall.

“It’s been fifteen minutes,” Louis Stanton said. And damn, his voice sounded a helluva lot more panicked than Lily’s. “I need to get back there.”

The man directing a pistol at Lily looked down at his watch. Dominic needed to move now. He glanced down at the gun in his right hand.

At this distance, he could hit Louis and disarm him if his finger pulled the trigger. And there was no guarantee his damaged nerves would receive the signal and follow orders. He silently switched the gun to his left hand. He could make the shot at this distance. Hell, he didn’t have a choice. He couldn’t fail her. Not here. Not now.

“I need to be back to the courthouse in ten minutes,” Louis said as if timing was his big fucking problem, not the fact that he was holding a woman at gunpoint.

Dominic took advantage of the other man’s momentary distraction and stepped into the room, with his weapon raised and prepared to fire.

But dammit, nervous and terrified Louis Stanton moved first. The bastard stepped toward Lily. He held the gun up to her face and said, “Give me the phone.”

He saw the panic in Lily’s eyes. Dominic didn’t have a clue who was on the other end of that line. Noah? Caroline? It sure as hell wasn’t a representative from family court.

But he also saw her blue eyes widen as she spotted him. Her lips parted as if she might call out. He shook his head and hoped she got the message.

“Give me the phone,” Louis repeated, waving his gun-­free hand in the air like an impatient child.

Dominic didn’t have a choice right now. He had to reveal his position. And he couldn’t do it by firing at Louis. Not while the bastard stood in front of Lily.

If he missed, if he hit her . . .

Not an option.

“Louis,” he called.

The man who’d hurt Lily, who’d hunted her down and held a fucking gun to her head, turned. He looked crazed and pretty damn surprised to see a gun pointed in his direction. But still Dominic didn’t fire. He couldn’t take advantage of the other man’s shock with Lily so close. He didn’t have the accuracy.

“Lily! Move!” he barked. Please listen to me, honey. Please trust me. Give me a second chance and even if I can’t win your heart, I’ll keep it beating.

She obeyed. Thank fucking God. She dove for the floor at the foot of the refrigerator, her arms raised to cover her head.

Dominic spared her one last glimpse. The long blond hair. The faded marks on her forearms. Her blue eyes wide with fear. He loved her. He would always love her.

Then he turned his attention back to Louis. He aimed and he pulled the trigger.

And so did the man trembling in his shoes.

Dominic’s shoulder exploded with pain. It was on fire. And fuck a duck. It was his right arm. As he fell to the kitchen floor, he turned away from the man who’d dropped like a stone and looked at the woman he loved.

“I had to, Lily,” he murmured. He saw tears streaming down her face. “I love you too much to let him hurt you.”





Chapter Seventeen


LILY CRAWLED ACROSS the floor. Her entire body shook from the roller-­coaster ride of fear. The gun aimed at her, the sound of Dominic on the phone, the wondering if that would be the last time she heard his voice, if the madman with the gun would shoot her first . . .

“Dominic,” she whispered as she reached his side. He turned his head toward her, his green eyes open and alert.

Oh, thank goodness.

“Is he moving?” he asked.

She stole a brief glance at the other body sprawled on the floor. Louis Stanton’s right hand was open and his gun rested on the floor a few feet away. She watched his fingers, waiting for them to reach for his weapon, to try to hurt her again, to take more from them . . . And nothing. Not a twitch.